From Now On
by TopKat
Summary: Sirius left in the morning on an October Monday.RemusSirius.


**From Now On**

Sirius left in the morning one October Monday, leaving most of himself behind.

Remus found him in the corners of their living room, in the sheddings and the hairs on the sofa, in the drain and on the cabinets, where he'd messily made tea. He found him in his hair and in his hairbrush, in the horrible drippings around the toilet, in the endless, aching silences he left behind, in the things he had chosen to leave.

Remus awoke to the empty house and for a moment he didn't know. He rose from their bed with an ache in his spine, the tension of the new moon coming on, the sunlight only just filtering onto his pillow. He thought it odd for Sirius to be awake so early, but called across the hall for him anyway, walked bare-footed into the kitchen, hissing when he hit cold tile. The feeling that he was alone only dawned when the kitchen lay silent and dead, spread before him, the remnants of dinner sitting still over counter-tops and in the sink.

Summoning all his strength, he continued as usual; because he'd expected this. Because it didn't come as a surprise, after all, and because if he _hadn't _left, there would have been more long nights with Sirius turned to face the wall and Remus' hand endlessly hovering over his shoulder, never touching down.

He found him in the pans in the sink. In the imprint on the sofa, in the burnt-out batteries in the TV remote. Once, he found a single handprint against the bathroom mirror, not sure if it was his or the other man's, and stared at it for so long that its significance paled away, and all that was left was the werewolf looking back at himself, a smudge marring the skin over his heart.

XxX

One November Tuesday, Remus woke to the roar of a motorbike and rushed to the window in time to see a blond muggle youth pull away, a boy nothing like Sirius, a girl clutching him at the waist, and failing completely he watched until it faded out of sight. He started to feel angry and desperate, stopped answering Lily's worried owls. He wandered around the flat, throwing away everything that Sirius had ever touched until he realised that eventually he'd have nothing left. There was nowhere to go, nothing to do – his life was inseparable from the life they'd built together, and to try and extricate the parts of it that were _his _was to unravel it altogether.

XxX

One November Wednesday, he found the note, pressed between the pages of a favourite book – scrawled quickly, in Sirius' sure, resolute print, blotted with the stamp of the side of Sirius' palm, the ink smudged where he had left-handedly brushed it, writing _'sorry' _and nothing else.

Remus tore the note in half, tore it in quarters and eighths and sixteenths until it became confetti, held it in his hand, ruined, and felt no better. He piled the pieces by the side of the bed and sat, staring at them, until his legs started to ache, and he had to leave for a meeting.

When he came back the pieces were still there; he turned over before sleeping, not daring to look them in the eye.

XxX

One December Thursday, he cleaned the mirror until it was spotless.

He hoovered the flat, set the vacuum bag alight when he was done. He twitched the picture-frames and cigarette packets from their holders and holes, moved the sofas to the other side of the room. He laundered the sheets, swept the counter-tops free of food, did the dishes with scalding hot water, drawing his hands out red and steaming, drying them and then washing the towels.

He scrubbed the residue from around the toilet, ironed every item of clothing he owned, dusted the inside of the empty, opposite wardrobe to his. He moved the bed so as to clean underneath, and picked long, black hairs from the drain with a grimace.

Silently, as the day began to fade, he pieced the note back together and pressed it, again, between the pages of the book. He set it on the end table, and spared it little more than a glance before sleeping on the left side of the bed, like always.

XxX

One Friday, a week later, Remus went to Lily and James' house. He held the hand of their son, the boy who already squawked 'Moo! Moo!'whenever they saw one another, and was enthralled by the way his green eyes followed their every move.

They ate, desperately trying to convince Harry of the trustworthiness of broccoli, and laughed, and did not talk about the two empty chairs, though James' brow occasionally creased, and Lily stopped him before he went.

She said 'Are you okay?', her eyes soft – and he _was_ okay, and amazingly, surprisingly, his 'Yes', for once, was not a lie.

XxX

One Saturday evening not long after, he retrieved the note from the book and put it in a drawer instead, and pulled out different, older letters, and read them, and smiled.

XxX

One evening on a Sunday, in January, he sat looking out the window, reading, and felt it peel away.

Like a physical weight, as he turned the last page, he felt the corners of his grief slowly lift, and whereas before it had settled over his chest, a beast, it shifted; became a piece of paper, rolled up, and slotted between two of his ribs.

It breathed when he did, it sighed and ached, and though it was not gone – in fact, he doubted it ever would be – it fluttered only briefly when he looked in the clean mirror upstairs, and pressed his hand to the glass, looked at himself, and said '_It will be okay.'_

* * *

><p><strong>Another short one, written while listening to "Re:Stacks" by Bon Iver, a beautiful song which i think conveys what i was going for here better than i can. I wholly recommend YouTubing it! <strong>

**Again, reviews are _always _appreciated, and i will _always _reply!**


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